Look to Your Left
by Soleil2
Summary: It's the first day of freshman orientation and junior class student representative Edward Cullen is forced to attend...again. An entry for the Meet the Mate Contest. M for language


Pen Name: Soleil2

Title: Look to Your Left…

Summary: It's the first day of Freshman Orientation and junior class student representative Edward Cullen is forced to attend it … again.

Beta: Dunk07 (remaining typos and errors are intentional)

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Rating: M (for language)

Ohmigosh! This won an honorable mention! That is coolest thing given the amazingly talented authors in this contest. Thank you all who supported this. I may or may not have an idea for a second part...

Word Count: 1939

10:00 a.m.

Live from New York, its freshman orientation. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it. It's a shame I'm not in New York. But this is live and it is freshman orientation, so I didn't lie there. But EAC2017, you say, you are not a freshman, why are you at freshman orientation? And the answer is simple, my brothers and sisters. I lost a bet. Yes, I, EAC2017, lost a bet and so, while my fellow upperclassmen/welcoming committee/ bad luck to be in an extracurricular activity that requires a representative at all incoming student functions compatriots are sleeping off their hangovers, I am stuck in the back of the H Hall. (Please remember names and places have been changed or not mentioned to save my sorry ass). And now I'm live blogging freshman orientation.

EAC2017, is orientation really that interesting? I'm glad you asked. It is not. Which is why I propose a drinking game for those of you with functioning livers. (You should be ashamed of yourselves, by the way, if you fall into that category. You are wasting your parents' hard earned money.) Whats the drinking game you ask. Here it is. Feel free to add suggestions. Although, again, I'm disappointed in you if you can think this early. The last days of summer are upon us. Grab them with both fists. Or grab beers with both fists and you won't care. Whatever works for you. Now the game. Drink if you hear (or read, since I presume you are not here): this school is so much better because of its students, disparaging remarks about our rivals, a song or dance routine, it's not a party, hard work but it's important to have fun, we're here to help you, and my favorite, look left, look right. In fact I believe we're getting to that one now.

"Look to your left," the dean says. The good little freshmen's heads turn in a collective group.

"Look to your right." The heads turn again like a collection of baby birds. Good job. Everyone at home, drink up.

"Is this seat taken?" An extremely late freshman is standing next to me looking very uncertain. I am not a monster. I tell her no. Also, for what it's worth, she's kind of hot. I am mostly not a monster. But if you're reading this, T, suck it. That's what you get for meeting "the love of your life" while I was building houses in Nicaragua. I am not wholly a monster.

"Oh, thank goodness." Hot Freshman drops a bag that weighs approximately 40 lbs on my foot. Shit. That motherfucker hurt."Ohmigosh." Her hands are now doing this very weird fluttery thing in front of her. "I am so sorry."

"S'okay," I say. b/c I am manly and also because I gritting my teeth too much to fully answer.

"Are you sure? I got so, so lost coming here. I mean, sure, large main hall, how hard could it be to find?" She's still talking. Drinking game suspended. I want to see how long this goes on before she winds down. "But it's impossible for me anyway. I was down by the bookstore and I got so turned around. And my friend, A's (name redacted), older sister said I'd look like a loser if I used the map. But, like, I don't know where anything is, so I looked like a loser wandering around lost with text books that required me to sell plasma, a kidney, and put lien on my first born. A's sister, C, she said I could sell them back at the end of the year, but what if I need them again, you know?"

I nod, b/c I'm amazed at the vast amount of words coming from Hot Freshman's mouth. She might be renamed Crazy Chick soon. Very soon, b/c she still talking. "I mean, I'm not a hoarder or anything-" Things A Hoarder Would Say for $500, Alex "-but you just never know when something will come in handy, right? Oh, I'm B, by the way." She holds out her hand.

"EAC2017." I used my real name. I'm not a complete a-hole.

Posted 10:15

No comments

"Are you taking notes? Is it tht important? Shit. I am not taking notes. C said that you didn't really need to pay attention. I should never have listened to her. Really, I should have known better after the Great Pink Hair Debacle of 2014."

"Um, what's the Great Pink Hair Debacle of 2014?" I swear, I didn't want to ask, but how do you not. None of you would have done differently.

B, Hot Freshman, Crazy Chick, holds a chunk of brown hair between her fingers and waves it up and down. "She, C, convinced me I should try that cotton candy pastel hair thing that was all over Pinterest a few years ago, remember?"

No, b/c I have a dick. I don't say this. I say no. Not a monster, remember? "Anyway, with hair as dark as mine-" B/HF/CC's hair is brown. So are her eyes. I swear to God, if one of you fuckers asks me what shade, I'll answer the same way, brown. Dark brown is still brown. I'm a guy. It's brown. "-you have to bleach it first. My hair turned orange. My dad had to pay a hairdresser to restore my hair. Apparently Ronald McDonald is a bad look for me."

It's a bad look for everyone. Including you, J, b/c I know you're intrigued now. "Wouldn't that be the Great Orange Hair Debacle, then?"

"Maybe," she shrugs, "but my hair supposed to be pink. So went with the color it was supposed to be. Apparently, when you do this, bleach it I mean, you're supposed to do it slowly over time. I did not. Nope. C told me it was okay. This is what I get for listenting to a girl who thought France still owned Louisian. I mean, she was taking American history and everything. Plus, there are 50 states. So, what. Louisiana suddenly doesn't count and we've gained Puerto Rico, or count California twice?" She crosses her arms and leans back in a huff. B/HF/CC takes her states seriously.

Yes, I know her point. C is seriously stupid.

Posted 10:35

1 Comment(s)

"Oh gosh, I've been talking this whole time, haven't I?" You have, B/HF/CC, you have I have very tired ears to prove it. "Im sorry. Do you think we've missed anything important? I'm a nervous talker and this whole thing – not this this-" she is gesturing wildly at the sea of bewildered freshmen faces "-but, you know, college. I mean, I've never even been to sleep away camp. Or day camp! And this is, like, both! But with classes! Do camps have classes? I guess they must because otherwise why would parents send their kids there? Other than the break? So I guess it's like camp, but w/ hard classes and debt. So much debt."

I guess all the alcohol must officially be out of my system because I kind of followed that.

"You'll be fine." I am all reassurance.

"How do you know? You're in the same boat as me."

"I'm actually a junior."

B/HF/CC's eyes get really big. Really big. And I see you, Emmanator, stupid name, by the way, no way in fuck am I calling them chocolate colored. Don't think I don't know that R. suggested that. You'd never think of it on your own. Although it's food, so maybe. (interestingly, she's now turning an odd shade of red. I am familiar with expression beet red, so that's what we'll call it.)

"It's okay," I tell her, because, honestly, she looks like she might cry now.

"I'm so, so sorry." She nods at my computer. "You're probably doing something super important and I've been babbling on no end. I am so stupid. First, I get lost, then I maim you and then I talk to your ear off and then I insult you. Fuck, I may as well just go home."

I pat her arm. Since I'm closer to her now, I can tell you she smells really good. Kind of flowery.

Posted 10:35

1 Comment(s)

Fuck you, Emmanator. I don't know what kind of flower.

"It's okay," I say again. "Really."

"I swear I'm not usually such a mess."

I do not believe you, B/HF/CC. I do not believe you.

She smiles at me. "You're really nice."

I'm still blogging this for all of my followers, who are probably judging both of us pretty hard, so I doubt that.

"I went to a super small school last year and year before, so this is like culture shock."

"Where'd you go?" I ask, because my own super small school experience allows me to be sympathetic. And let's face it, I need a deep reservoir of sympathy points because I'm still typing this and I'm pretty sure I'm going to do quite a few regrettable things very soon.

"F." She shrugs. "It's this tiny, tiny town on the O.P."

And holy shit. It's my small school too.

"Holy shit," I say. "That's where I'm from too."

Her eyes can open really wide. How do they not pop out? "No way." She shakes her head. Because I'd make that up.

"Why don't I know you?

"I moved there right before my junior year. So you'd've been gone by then, I guess?"

"So," I leaned forward. "You're telling me that I missed seeing the Great Pink Hair Debacle in person by just this much?"

She nods, eyes still really wide. Also, she's pink again.

"That makes me sad, B."

"Why's that [EAC2017]?"

"Ronald McDonald has always been a personal hero of mine."

Fortunately, we're at the witty play on words singing and dancing portion of orientation. Never change, orientation. Never change. Because she starts giggling like a loon. Those are white birds, Emmanator. I don't know if they giggle.

"First you deprive me of the chance of seeing you with bright orange hair and now you're laughing at me?"

"Sorry," she giggles. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

Because I am blogging this, I shall leave it to you to guess what I wanted to say. Needless to say, I didn't say it. I may have waggled my eyebrows.

She huffs. "You suck." She immediately holds up a hand. "Don't say it."

"B, I'm a guy."

"I've picked up on this."

"So I'm contractually obligated to say it."

"Resist."

"Alas, I cannot. That's what she-" She slaps a hand over my mouth.

"Shh," she murmurs, "you don't have to say it. Let there be silence between us."

In case anyone wonders later, after I've deleted these posts, this is the moment I decide she's perfect for me. Applause startles us and now I realize orientation is over. B claps and gathers her things.

"[EAC2017]," she says, "I know this is crazy."

"But you want to give me your number so I can call you maybe?"

She groans. "Not that. I mean, I know this is kind of personal." She shifts awkwardly on her feet. "I can see your computer screen."

"The whole time?"

"No, but, I mean, I was sitting right next to you and well, there's no easy way to say this. You can't type at all." She hitches her bag over her shoulder. "Catch you later, EAC2017. Clever name, by the way."

I need to go. I need to catch the future Mrs. EAC2017.

Posted 11:10

3 Comment(s)

11:11

Emmanator says:

Classic.

11:11

RosesSuppose says:

Oh my god. Dying.

12:30

EAC2017 says:

It worked.


End file.
